Page 11 of Three More Shots
Fear.
Corinne’s afraid.
Rage pulses through me. I don’t give a damn who this motherfucker is, he’s a dead man.
“I’m sorry.”
Bullshit.She doesn’t have to apologize to him or anyone else for a damn thing.
“You’re going to be sorry, bitch. Really, really sorry.”
I yank the black handle, dangling from the dented metal door, and stride inside like I fucking own the place. I own this city, so I might as well remind whomever the asshole is sliding his brown leather belt out of the loops. The only image I can see is Corinne trembling, cowering under his hulking presence. Ainsley stands behind her, tiny hands covering her ears as she rocks, mumbling something I can’t make out over and over. “Take her out of here, Corinne.”
Shock floods her blanched face from my vehement voice. Then relief. Glorious fucking relief that she doesn’t have to face this bastard alone. While he spins around just as surprised, snarling at me as if he’s going to tear into me instead. Motherfucker, you have no idea what’s in store for you.“Did you hear me,cara? Take her in the other room and close the door.”
“Don’t move!”
He points back at her as if he actually has some kind of control or power. I’d destroy him in an instant if my girls weren’t here. I can’t expose them to death, especially Ainsley. “It’s okay. Go ahead.”
More hair falls from her messy bun as her head bobs. She twists around and scoops up her daughter, who shrieks and arches away from her. Unaware her mother is helping her. Unaware I’m going to save both of them from even more than this threat. Unaware they both belong to me now.
He’s a big dude. But I’m bigger and way angrier. He’s just an idiot with a wanna-be-biker complex, while I’m a sadist who actually takes perverse pleasure in torturing morons, especially those who cross me, which he has in the worst way possible when he fucked with what’s mine.
A smug grin reveals his jacked-up, half-rotten teeth when the bathroom door slams shut, unable to completely block out Ainsley’s terrified screams.
“You wanna take on the Tank?”
Really? That’s the best this moron can come up with? I laugh myself, confusing the fucker with my humor, right before I slam my fist into his yellow-stained mouth. Blood gushes down the back of my hand. “Not so funny now, is it motherfucker?”
Another hit to his jaw knocks him on his ass, and my only regret is the mess he makes on her already crappy tile. I know she’ll be upset and afraid. Luckily, she won’t be living here anymore and doesn’t have to worry about the landlord bitching.
I tower over him, grinding my shoe onto his chest to keep him still. “You like scaring little kids? You like beating on women?”
“No, man…I–”
My heel busts his nose, and then I ram my foot into his side when he rolls over in misery. “How does it feel to be scared and beaten?”
Not surprisingly, he’s unable to answer, which is probably for the best because now I’m really going to bring him to tears. I grab his dingy, white wife-beater and haul him up to a standing position. Well, as much as he can with his external and internal injuries. Shoving him against the already fucked front door, he busts through the cheap metal and face plants on the cracked concrete stairs.
I step over him and leisurely stride to his baby. “You hurt what’s mine, asshole, and that’s the absolute biggest mistake you can ever make.”
The lack of a cut proves he’s too much of a piece of shit to even belong to an MC. Just a loser with a bad attitude and a gorgeous bike. Sad for him, his ride won’t be gorgeous for too much longer. A firm shove tips his Harley over, and the metal crashing to the ground makes his head bobble and lift from the sidewalk. I didn’t damage his eyes so he could witness the crucifixion. He literally weeps with each kick and stomp and grind.
Working until sweat rolls down my back, I finally pause and slide out my phone, texting Deuce that I need a clean-up crew for a man and his hog, but make sure I do the final honors for both of them. I always like to finish what I start, but right now, I need to get back to my girls.
I stride over to the asshole and crush his head to the pavement again until he’s out. Can’t risk him moaning and scaring Corinne or Ainsley because I sure as hell know he’s not getting up.
Inside her place, I close the flimsy wooden front door, draw the drapes across the window to block out the garbage pick-up, and grab a roll of paper towels, swiping across the red streaks on the ceramic. My efforts aren’t perfect, but at least it’s enough to remove the most obvious marks for now. Shrugging off my jacket, I wad the used rags inside to hide them from her, wash my hands, and check my shirt to make sure the fabric is clean of any visible evidence from his beating before I knock on the bathroom door. “It’s safe to come out, Corinne.”
The knob clicks, and she peeks through the few inches she allows for the opening, confirming my assertion is accurate and disappointing me that she doesn’t completely trust me yet. Another failure I’ll have to work on.
“Okay.”
A forced smile strains her worried face, and she looks back at her daughter, who sits in the tub playing with a shitload of cheap plastic toys, seemingly undisturbed by what happened earlier.
“I’ll be right back, sweet pea.”
Ainsley doesn’t answer. Her focus remains on loading miniature dolls onto a boat and squirting them with purple soap. Corinne keeps the door cracked, but beelines straight to me as soon as she turns around, burying herself in my chest and shocking the hell out of me in the best possible way.
